Infidel
by real-circus
Summary: AU. Lost inside, Hisoka finds love in all the wrong places. He is taken in by his master's old friend, whose murderous intent might just destroy him completely. (MurXHis, TsuXHis eventually)
1. Prologue

Notes: Okay, this is my first ever YnM fic, and the first fanfiction I've written in over a million Internet decades. Was thinking of writing a Yami no Matsuei fic ever since I watched part of the anime, and after months of coming up with a sturdy plot, I'm here. I hope it's good enough for viewing… anyways I might go on hiatus for a long time during the Prelim period. I'll soon find time to try and finish it. I'll really, really try… ;; Enjoy!

Warnings: Yaoi, shounen-ai, and by the way, it's an AU fic. Eventually TsuzukixHisoka and some other pairings.

**Infidel **_by real-circus_

**Prologue: The Religion **

Love is a religion. Just a popular belief that people neither had nor practiced when they first stepped into the world. In other words, no one really, _really _needed it as much. Right?

Hisoka could never quite understand the concepts of Love. How is it that one could manage to be so dedicated to a belief that they'd die for it? How was one supposed to love? Was there a certain degree as to how much one should love? He'd tried perceiving Love from different angles, but they all seemed the same from where he was. Maybe he was on the wrong side of the fence. Maybe he just needed to wait for someone to bring him to the greener side.

Of course, he'd known better that no one will come.

Love was tucked into the corners of the little things others did for him, particularly his master. Oriya's love was… like a robe. Come to think of it, _robe _sounded like a nice, comforting word. _Robe. _A thick old robe, in particular – those you wear after a shower, when you were feeling cold. A robe – something you wore everyday till you finally forget it even was there. Hisoka thought that _robe _sounded far nicer than _kimono. _Obis were really restricting. Possessive.

Hisoka was not fond of visitors who came and went. Oriya had friends almost _everywhere. _Hisoka didn't like the fact that the ardent attention showered upon him everyday was suddenly turned to these strangers. But Oriya's business wasn't of his concern. However, he'd learnt that his master was running an illegal brothel some five miles away, and he never got to know more.

Oriya never told him. Oriya never let him listen to his conversations. Hisoka only came in and out to bring and take out the tea. Nothing more. Sometimes, Oriya's love was like tea, come to think of it. Warm tea, served with sweet biscuits and shared with a loved one. Oriya always made good tea.

All the better that Hisoka stayed away from his clients. They were 'not to be of his concern'. The conversations were 'not suitable for such tender ears', and Oriya would affectionately chuck his ward's chin after that.

Little that Oriya realised, baby Hisoka wasn't all that a baby anymore.

Puberty hit him at a late stage, and Hisoka was no longer that scrawny, little boy – he'd grown out of… a lot of things. For one thing, Oriya discovered, the tiny bud that was his baby Hisoka, had grown into a potential beauty. His pale, nearly white skin had flushed with the coming of maturity and his hair was groomed in a fashion that fitted well with his face. For that, Hisoka was not to be disturbed by his male clients.

Oriya protected Hisoka like his own son. But like Love, one could only protect someone to a certain degree before letting go forever. Like Love, it left Hisoka with a feeling of emptiness, and he found his own unwise way – in the days to follow – to fill up that gash in his soul.

The day before, a long-lost friend of Oriya's came to stay the night.

Hisoka had heard the arguments from his room above the kitchen. They lasted for an hour. Oriya never raised his voice at anyone, and the fact that he was shouting at the top of his lungs that night made Hisoka cower in his bed. When the roaring ceased, but the front door didn't slam, Hisoka thought it safe to come down.

That was when he finally got a glimpse of this _friend _of his master's.

At first, Hisoka didn't know whether he could call it Love that dominated his heart. Or was it fear? Were they the same things? That silver hair, the white coat, and white personality fascinated him to no end. Hisoka rarely ventured to the outside world, and he'd never seen such a captivating creature. Perhaps Muraki felt the same way, as he had watched the boy with hungry eyes when he came in with the tea.

The man noted every small movement, every tiny twist, even the way he got on his knees to set the tray on the table. Hisoka blushed, avoiding Muraki's sharp eyes as much as he could, but Oriya knew what Muraki saw. Whereas Hisoka thought it to be Love, all Oriya saw in Muraki's eyes were Lust.

Later in the night, Hisoka discovered that the two men were once much more than friends.

His master had slapped Muraki's wandering hand away from his waist ruthlessly, and Muraki had said something incoherent from Hisoka's bedroom window. Oriya's love life was gone just like that.

When Hisoka brought a tray of tea in to the guestroom that night, he didn't realise how much it would change things. He had wanted secretly just to see Muraki that night, didn't realise how aimlessly in Love he had been. Didn't realise that all Muraki felt for him was Lust. So, when Muraki kissed him, Hisoka let him. When Muraki sleeked his hands down parts of his body he never wished to show to anyone, let alone touch, Hisoka let him. When Muraki lifted his narrow hips and said it wouldn't hurt, Hisoka believed him.

The tea was left forgotten.

And that was how he grew to understand (but not fully comprehending) how Love worked. In the days to come, Hisoka would learn that he was much more comfortable with a worn-out robe than a silken kimono. No matter how beautiful and flawless it seemed.

To be continued…

Reviews would be greatly appreciated! Tsuzuki and the other characters will be appearing in the next chapters… This is my first time portraying the characters, and it might not be accurate, but please deal with me. I'm trying…sobs


	2. Angel of Deciet

**Infidel **_by real-circus_

**Chapter 1: Angel of Deceit **

Their words of parting were short and somewhat incomplete, but words could not match the tears that rolled down Oriya's face when Hisoka stepped into the silver car outside the house. Muraki left without saying so much as a thank you and drove off, with the boy waving sadly at his master from the rear window.

"If anything happens, anything at all, call me alright?" he had said to his ward. Muraki was not exactly the loving type; once he'd got your heart on a leash, he'd tie it to his heels and drag it over cobbled roads until it was battered and bleeding.

Oriya did not protest verbally about Hisoka returning to the city with Muraki; he kept it in his heart, since the man seemed to make Hisoka happy. He knew it was bound to happen, after he heard the panting and grunting coming from the guest room the night before. He _knew _that bastard intended for him to hear them, so that he could feel jealous… But if Hisoka was comfortable with it, it was fine.

* * *

"Tsuzuki… you know we can't go on like this…"

The man named Tsuzuki looked up from his chocolate cake in mild shock. He blinked twice, registering what his friend had just said and wondering if it had been his imagination. "Tatsumi," he started, feeling his appetite leave him. He just knew it was coming. He had been asking for it. "Um… what do you mean?" he asked, knowing fully what it meant.

"I mean this relationship," Tatsumi said, steeling himself for Tsuzuki's next reaction. He looked away, towards the foggy outlines of pagodas and mountains in the distance. He mustn't let his composure crack – no, not in front of Tsuzuki. "It has… slowed me down. I thought that our love would have been so much more, only that…"

"Is it because of me?" Tsuzuki asked sadly, staring at his murky reflection in the cold tea in front of him.

Tatsumi cringed inwardly, feeling his heart go soft. "No, of course not," he half-lied. Tsuzuki always had a way to make him forget the speech he had planned in his head long before. "It's me. It's everything to do with me."

"Then we'll try to fix it together." Tsuzuki, always the optimistic one.

The older man smiled, pushing the stray hairs out of Tsuzuki's face and behind his ears. He gazed at him lovingly, almost wistfully. "Not this time, Tsuzuki. You know this is doing no good for the both of us. Here," he placed a couple of yen on the table before standing up. "I'll pay. And, Tsuzuki…" he said with a note of finality. "I'm so sorry, I really am."

As he left for the office, Tsuzuki pushed his plate away, suddenly feeling sick. _This is not happening… _

* * *

Hisoka stared in awe at the tall concrete buildings surrounding them. They were spectacular, true, but they were missing the quaintness and tranquility of Oriya's hometown. The streets of the city were noisy and people walked on quickly as though they were in a hurry. The life here was definitely not as slow-paced as the countryside, and obviously not as inspirational or peaceful. It would be hard getting used to such a place, but he found it interesting nonetheless.

Muraki noticed an anxious Hisoka peering out the car window in admiration of the tall walls of glass and brick and stone. The older man chuckled softly, finding delight in knowing that his new plaything was taking such interest to the city. It was so adorable. "You like it?" he inquired. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes," Hisoka replied, eyes fixed to the window, causing several motorcyclists to look at him curiously. "It's perfect."

Hisoka's elbow accidentally pressed the button beneath the window and the glass slid down with a weird sound (_Magic!_). He sat there playing with the switch all the way to his new home, and it made Muraki a little annoyed but he kept his silence. The parking lot was quite empty, since most of the residents in the estate had left for work early in the morning. It was too quiet to be a Monday morning. So quiet it was almost alluring, especially with the sinful thoughts in his head about the little boy in the backseat.

"Stay there, Hisoka," he commanded, his expression indecipherable. So, Hisoka stayed where he was, while his new master got out of the car and into the backseat with him. "It could be a bit noisy up in the apartment, but it's so much peaceful down here, isn't it?"

Hisoka saw that same look in Muraki's eyes; the look he gave him right before taking his body. Was this still Love? Did he still believe in it? That didn't really matter at that moment, because Muraki had a way of draining all his thoughts out, replacing it with a strange sense for pleasure and for Muraki's hands to be all over him, like they were now. Perhaps it had been for a fresh insight of the outside world that Hisoka chose to follow Muraki to the terrifying concrete jungle. It could have been for the excitement of being able to leave the life in Oriya's hometown that was beginning to grow stale.

However, none of the reasons for him leaving was Love. Did he really love Muraki? Did Muraki love him? If he didn't, was that act of love last night a mere way for the man in white to satisfy his own selfish needs? Hisoka didn't want to think about it now. Not when Muraki's head was between his knees. All the while, the lean man made sure to keep his long fringe covering his right eye for some reason. Hisoka didn't question it anyway.

He heard grunting and strong panting coming from the man above him. Hisoka's blurry sight consisted of white clothes tossed away and grey hair surrounding his face; he was spun around by the waist so that Muraki could place his lips all over the small of his back. The boy dug his fingernails into the grey cushion fabric of the car seat, as the world around him disappeared, and his whole vision consisted of a dashingly tall man in white. So white, like an angel, that was about to carry him off to his death.

* * *

Another body had been found just beside the bakery in an alley where the stench alerted the owner. The dead woman had been decapitated, and the body's head was held snugly in one arm, while an ivory comb sat in the other hand, making it seem as though the corpse had been combing its hair. Not a drop of blood caked the fourth victim of the gruesome murders, just like the previous three. Its cuts were clean, as though someone bothered to clean up after committing the murder, but the strange thing was that the severed head was grinning, as though in ecstasy.

Tsuzuki was growing weary. Not only had they failed to link the crimes together to find the culprit, but a fourth murder just had to happen right after his breakup with Tatsumi. Things always had to happen at the wrong times. Always.

The forensic team completed their collecting of evidences and evaluated that the body had been dead for slightly less than four hours. The head had been cut off with a simple knife and there were no signs of a struggle. Not a drop of blood stained the city pavement. It was too clean, too well planned. Of course, the killer had a lot of time to think through how he'd murder the woman. It was a total of 79 hours since the victim had been reported missing. The police assumed that all four of the victims had been kidnapped and succumbed to torture before they were brutally murdered.

There were absolutely no links between the four victims, causing the investigators to believe that the killer had no real motive in murdering them. Perhaps he thought of it as a sort of sick sport. _Whoever did this… must have been a sick, sick genius, _Tsuzuki thought as he watched the body being transferred into a body bag.

* * *

Hisoka had to limp up the stairs. The uncomfortable pain _down there_ was bothering him greatly and he stopped to check if he was bleeding. Muraki turned when he heard a soft whimper. Hisoka blushed deeply, feeling silver eyes burning on his body. "Did I hurt you?" Muraki asked sweetly. So sweet it made Hisoka's insides twist with disgust.

"N-no… it's just a little pain…" The wound stung as though in protest. "I just… maybe need some…"

"I'm a doctor, you know," Muraki said, a sly grin playing on the paleness of his face. "I can take a look at it, if you want me to. It might need… a little stitching too, don't you think? It would be just like the first time."

Hisoka felt all the blood in his body travel to his face. _Is that really possible? _

Muraki chuckled before fishing out a set of keys to his apartment. It looked like a cozy, clean little place at first glance, but the boy felt uneasy about the whole design. Most of the furnishings were a deathly white, except for the scarce wood pieces and green plants and the silver cutlery. The wide mullioned window at the end of the living room overlooked the dreary and smoky city. Cars honked endlessly in their streams of traffic. A policeman's whistle shrieked somewhere below. Hisoka now wondered if this was what he really wanted.

"You don't like it?" There was hardly any disappointment in the man's deep voice despite the words he spoke.

"It's a bit different, that's all," Hisoka answered truthfully.

"Why don't you take a look at our room, love?"

"Our room?" The prospect thrilled and frightened him all at once. He was about to pick one of the doors by the corridor when Muraki swiftly grabbed his wrist.

"Ah, _that _room is out of bounds, little doll. A baby like yourself should not be ready for grownup toys, hm? Leave it be, and if you're really good, I might just let you open it."

Hisoka was about to retort that he wasn't a baby, but something told him it was best to keep the door closed unless he was sure it was safe to go in.

Muraki led him to the room at the end of the small corridor, and Hisoka gasped in shock at the sight. Blood red rose petals littered almost every corner of the white room. An endless flow of blood on snow. The white silken bed sheets were patterned with silver roses under the petals, with white hangings tied back with russet rope.

As Hisoka took in the display before him, his new master whispered delicately into his ear, "I would be ever so delighted if you were to grace that bed with this gorgeous body of yours…"

While having the young boy pinned down with his back crushing the frail petals, Muraki noticed that the drawer where he stowed his precious Gothic knife was slightly open. The blade glimmered dully in the dim light. Whilst occupying the mewling boy with violent kisses, Muraki shut the drawer soundlessly, smirking against shuddering lips. Prying feeble thighs apart, he thought how it would feel like slicing them off. He suckled on the neck he fantasized about throttling. He moaned with rapture, running his hands down soft skin, and musing about how he should go about carving his long-thought-of design into it. He traced the twirls and lines, having memorized them in his mind.

_Oh, I would love to hear your delightful screams before I inject you… and make you scream no more. _

Beneath him, Hisoka struggled to grasp onto something while pleasure and pain melded into one.

_To be continued… _

It's short, I know. Heh, sorry… didn't have time, and I just wanted to finish this chapter quick for some of you out there waiting for an update. So sorry if it took WAY long! It might have errors here and there, but that's because this one was a quickie. If you've read, please review! Thanks for all previous comments!


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